Monkier Mishap
by Volaiel
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle has always had issues with his names... all of them.


Tom Marvolo Riddle despised his name. Everyone who knew him was well aware of this fact. It was common. It was what he had been called in that damnable orphanage. It was… _muggle._ So he decided to rid himself of it.

Of course, he couldn't just ban his friends and followers from using his name, now could he? He wanted people afraid to speak his name. They could not fear to speak his name if he did not have a name. So he needed to select a new name for himself.

One night, as he paced the library in agitated contemplation, his mind wandered to something he had done years ago out of boredom. He had made a list of every possible anagram of his name. Mentally, he scrolled down the list and found one that fit. "I am Lord Voldemort". He grinned. It was perfect. He doubted any human alive would share the name; it was as far from common as possible. It could be read as both "Flight from death" and "flight of death". He fully intended to be immortal, so the first was quite fitting. The latter was also quite intimidating. It was perfect. The name also had its origins in French. Given a few generations, he should escape his muggle roots entirely, and his subjects would come to believe him a member of a French pureblood family.

He would tell his "friends" his new moniker tonight. From here, he would take his first step to leaving his old name behind.

\- TMR TMR TMR TMR -

Ten years later, the man once known as Tom Riddle seriously regretted this decision. It seemed that he had actually managed to overestimate the intelligence and capability of his followers and future subjects. No matter how he tried, _everyone_ mispronounced his name. For Merlin's sake, couldn't they tell that bloody 't' was silent!?

As he sat listening to his followers, Nott turned to him and said "Lord Voldemort." Something deep within Voldemort, long held at bay, snapped at this point. His brow twitched. Why did everyone speak the 't' out loud!? "What would- AHHHHH!"

Voldemort held the Cruciatus Curse a moment longer, then sighed and released it. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, Nott? Are you too imbecilic to comprehend plain speech? Or perhaps you think yourself important enough to speak my name so carelessly?" he hissed in blinding fury. Enough was enough!

"I am sorry, my Lord. I beg of you, forgive my transgression! I did not intend to offend you." Nott was groveling on the floor, looking scared enough to wet his pants. In fact - yes, he really had wet himself, hadn't he. Voldemort snorted, caught somewhere between disgust at the liquid on the floor and pleasure at his follower's pain and fear.

"Just be sure not to repeat your offense, Nott. And clean that mess up **now**."

\- TMR TMR TMR TMR TMR TMR -

Unfortunately, neither this temper tantrum (No, it was a reprimand. Lord Voldemort would never be so undignified as to throw a temper tantrum) nor any subsequent _reprimand_ s resolved his name-induced problems. Rather than simply correct their pronunciation, his demented followers had taken to simply calling him "Dark Lord" or "My Lord" when they believed he could be in the vicinity. However, he had caught enough whispered conversations among non-followers to know that despicable mispronunciation was still propagating itself amongst Britain's magical population. By this point, he was no longer certain he had the ability to correct it. Why, oh why, did he ever choose a name that no one could pronounce? However, he was Lord Voldemort! Lord Voldemort would not give up so easily. In time, he derived a new plan.

Voldemort had begun to mark his followers recently. In a bout of inspiration, he added an extra feature to the mark; now his followers would feel his pain every time his name was mispronounced in their vicinity. He told them to be sure to correct any fools who dared speak his name in such a manner. He truly believed this would stop the spread of that bloody mispronunciation.

He was wrong.

While his followers did their best, torturing and killing those who dared speak that dratted silent 't' aloud, it was far too little, too late. People feared to speak his name in public for fear of attack, but when they did speak it, they still used the same mispronunciation.

Eventually, he gave into despair and put taboo on that dratted error of speech. The result, while not what he had hoped, was at least an improvement. The fools and muggle-lovers now insisted on calling him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who rather than call him by his true name. Well, no name was a marginal improvement. The fact that everyone now feared to speak a variation of his name was a huge ego boost. Unfortunately, the public did not know or fear his true name, just that mistaken moniker. It drove him up the wall every time it crossed his mind.

To his dying day, Lord Voldemort would lash out at anyone who dared call him Tom. However, he would _torture_ and preferably _kill_ any fool who dared mispronounce his chosen name. He did not spend all that time thinking it up to have his chosen monkier disregarded by a collection of moronic fools!


End file.
